Go On, Baby, Go To My Head
by nicalyse
Summary: And he comes to a conclusion: He's completely in love with her. One-shot.


It's kind of fucking stupid that they aren't just together.

Really, they basically are together, they just don't label shit. The weird thing is that it's all Rachel's idea, pretending that this is a casual thing. She'd spouted a bunch of bullshit about expectations and obligations, and he'd agreed to do whatever she wanted as long as she wasn't fucking around with anyone but him without telling him. But honestly, they sleep together, they hang out all the time, and he listens to her bitch when she needs to. Fuck, they spend more nights together than they do apart.

But whatever.

She came to New York right after graduation, just like she always said she would. She finished NYU in just three years, and it took her seven months to land the this off-Broadway musical she's been in for the last several months that she's insisting is helping her build a reputation and work towards her future. Puck came to New York to do the music thing, but good-looking guys with guitars are a dime a dozen in this place, and he didn't love it as much as he was supposed to. Rachel was the one who helped him decide to become an EMT, and he kind of loves it. It sure as fuck isn't boring. It's a rush, honestly, and he likes doing something that actually feels like a contribution or whatever, and he's fucking good at what he does.

He and Rachel started off as friends, but neither of them really knew anyone else in the city at first, so they spent a lot of time hanging out. Enough that they fell into bed together, and after they'd been doing that for a while, they agreed that they would only be with each other, something less than a relationship and more than casual sex. Neither of them has a good history with relationships; Rachel's boyfriends always break her heart and Puck's relationships are always, always dysfunctional in one way or another. But yeah, keeping it the way it is was definitely Rachel's idea.

He can't really complain about a lot. He loves his job, he's got cash in his pocket, and he has hot sex with his best friend. Sometimes though, if he's being really honest, he wishes that last bit was a little different, mostly just because he thinks he might be falling in love with her.

* * *

><p>Puck ends up being volunteered to represent his station at an FDNY fundraiser thing. He's been around for long enough, yeah, but he thinks it's probably just because his captain hates shit like this and Puck's the one who looks best in a tux. It's black tie, a silent auction and a dinner, and Rachel agrees to go with him. He actually thought he'd have to convince her, because it's on a Friday night and she'll have to give her show to her understudy for the night, but she's all over it, chattering about how she already has the perfect dress and whatever else.<p>

He lets himself into her apartment the night of the fundraiser, calling out her name as he shuts the door behind him. "Can you come help me?" she calls back, and he follows her voice down the hall to her bedroom.

And sort of freezes in the doorway when he sees her.

She's wearing a dress the color of red wine that skims her body all the way to the floor, and when she hears him in the doorway and turns, he sees that it's cut low between her breasts. It's sexy as hell, and while it might look slutty on another girl (Santana comes to mind), on Rachel it's all class. Her eye makeup is smoky and her hair is in these loose, easy waves that always make him want to bury his hands in it.

"Holy shit, baby."

She bites her bottom lip a little. "It's not too much for this, is it?"

"Uh, no." He closes the space between them traces the thin little strap at her shoulder. "You look gorgeous."

She smiles at him in earnest and stands on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Thank you. Fasten my bracelet?"

He clasps the delicate gold chain around her left wrist, and when she sits on the chest at the foot of her bed, he notices that it's the only jewelry she's wearing save for the little gold and sapphire ring she always wears on her right hand, a gift from her fathers when she graduated from high school.

He notices the way people look at her when they're walking around the ballroom where this thing is being held, looking at the items up for auction. She's completely oblivious, leaning up to whisper in his ear that someday, once she's a star on Broadway, she'll offer her voice as an item for one of these auctions, let someone buy her to sing at a party or a wedding or some function.

He's been listening to her say things like this for years, basically as long as he's known her, and somehow it just gets better with time. Probably because he knows it's actually going to happen. He's been to her show, and she's amazing. It's just a matter of time before the right person sees her or the right audition comes along and she makes it.

A captain from another station comes up to them just before dinner is served. "Puckerman!"

"Captain Austin."

Puck shakes his hand as the captain introduces his wife, a pretty blonde around Puck's mom's age in a simple black gown. "And this must be your beautiful wife," he says, clasping Rachel's hand softly.

She smiles brilliantly, that smile that you can't help falling in love with. "Friend," she corrects simply.

Puck pretends that it doesn't bother him to hear her say that. She's more than just his friend - they both know that - but whatever. Captain Austin takes Rachel's arm and leads her into the dining room, and Puck half-listens to the anecdote Austin's wife is telling about on of her kids as he leads her into the dining room behind Rachel.

"You just have to make everyone love you, don't you?" he whispers against her ear when they're seated at their table.

She lifts one shoulder delicately, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "I'm multi-talented, Noah."

Fuck, she's sexy. "Yeah, I know."

She just smiles at him when they're back in her apartment at the end of the night and he unzips her dress only to learn that she's been naked underneath it all night. She laughs when he growls against her neck, but the sound dies in her throat when he puts his lips to her ear and starts telling her everything he intends to do to her.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

He tells her after, when she's lying on her stomach and he's trailing the tips of his fingers up and down her spine, watching the goosebumps rise on her skin when he grazes his fingers over the nape of her neck.

She blinks at him slowly, and he knows she's about to fall asleep. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>"'Lo?"<p>

He isn't awake at all when he answers his phone, but it's totally out of habit that he does. He worked a seven p.m. to seven a.m. shift, and he crashed as soon as he got home. A glance at his alarm clock tells him it's nearing noon.

"Noah Puckerman?"

"Yeah."

"My name is Carrie. I'm a receptionist at New York Presbyterian, and I have a patient by the name of Rachel Berry who has listed you as her emergency contact."

So, getting a call from an emergency room when you're in bed is basically the worst way in the world to wake up, especially when the chick on the phone refuses to tell you what happened, only that Rachel is "not in any immediate danger" and that the doctor can give him more information when he gets there.

Fucking confidentiality laws.

Puck deals with emergency rooms all the time. He's a fucking EMT. He knows how it goes. But the ER is kind of endgame for what he does, and he's never appreciated what fucking _bullshit_ these places are until now.

It takes fucking forever, but eventually someone takes him back into an area with little curtained-off beds. Rachel's propped up on one in the back corner, her legs crossed at the ankle and her eyes closed as she leans back against the pillows. Her bangs are pinned back messily from her face, and there's a little bandage above her left temple, just beneath her hairline. She looks really fucking small lying there.

He steps up beside the bed. "Baby."

She blinks up at him slowly, and he watches her eyes fill with tears. "Noah. I had to get stitches."

He takes her hand and runs his thumb over her knuckles. "I thought I was the one who had the dangerous job," he quips, grinning when she lets out a watery little laugh. "What happened?"

He can tell she has a concussion as soon as she starts talking. It takes forever to get the story, because she keeps interrupting herself with questions and observations (_'Baby, I ate the last of the Special K this morning and there isn't any more in my cabinet like I thought.'_), but he figures out that one of her costars knocked her head-first into a piece of scenery. Not a huge deal, but she was knocked unconscious and has three tiny stitches in her forehead. ('_The doctor promised there won't be a scar. Noah, what if there's a scar?'_)

The fact that she isn't too badly hurt doesn't actually make him feel better about anything, fucked as it is.

He's perched on the edge of her bed while they wait for the doctor to come release her, sliding his hand up and down her arm. He just needs to be touching her right now, and honestly, he _knows_ how stupid it is that he's still so freaked out about this. It's just that he thinks he's falling in love with her - this girl who won't even admit that they're in a relationship - and he spent almost an hour not knowing if she'd been run over by a taxi or just broke a finger. This is somewhere in between, but he's still not okay with it.

She opens her eyes, and it takes a moment for them to focus on his face. "Did you know that head wounds bleed a lot, Noah?"

He grins at her in spite of himself. "Yeah?" Of course he knows.

She blinks slowly. "There's blood in my hair." He nods, because he already noticed the dried blood in her bangs. He figures someone at the theater must've pinned them back off her face while they were waiting for the ambulance. "Will you wash it out for me?"

"Sure, baby. When we get home."

He listens patiently when the doctor comes and gives him all of the instructions for taking care of someone with a concussion. He knows - he tells people pretty regularly - but he can't really be bothered to argue with the woman or tell her that he's an EMT or whatever. He just wants to get Rachel out of this place and into a bed where he can watch her and make sure she's okay.

Yeah, he's being a little ridiculous.

He takes her to his apartment because it's closer and her upstairs neighbor is a fucking fat bastard who's loud like, all the time, even just walking around. She mentions the blood in her hair no less than six times in the fifteen minute cab ride to his place, which sort of shoots to hell any ideas he had about just using a damp wash cloth to get rid of the worst of it. Girl's gonna have a conniption if he doesn't wash her hair the way he's "supposed" to.

He'd just let her shower on her own, but to be completely honest, he doesn't really trust her to do that. They wouldn't have released her from the hospital if she was too bad off, but he kind of just wants to stay in the same room with her for the next twenty-four hours or so, just in case. Plus, she asked him if he'd wash it, and he figures that taking a shower together is probably going to be the easiest thing.

Well, actually, it's going to fucking suck because she'll be wet and naked, and it'd be wrong to fuck the girl when she's got a concussion, but at least she won't be able to pass out and knock her head on the tile or something.

"My head hurts," Rachel murmurs when he's helping her out of her clothes. They're standing in his bathroom, the shower running so the water isn't cold when they get in.

He reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, takes a split second to look at her bare chest before he leans in to brush his lips over her forehead as he tosses the garment onto the counter. "I know, baby, but you can't take anything yet." The doctor gave her Tylenol at the hospital just before they left.

He sheds his own clothes quickly so he can help her step over the edge of the tub and really, really tries to ignore the fact that he's half-hard just seeing her naked like this. Honestly, it's fucking stupid how hot Rachel is, how much he wants her.

This girl takes showers hotter than anyone he's ever known, but apparently he didn't start the water hot enough, because she's twisting the left-hand tap when he tugs the curtain closed behind him, then turning so her back is to the spray as she tilts her head back to soak her hair.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Turn around," he mutters, setting one hand on her waist as he reaches past her for the bottle of shampoo she keeps at his place. (Yeah, she keeps shit in his shower and they aren't in a relationship. Fuck that noise.) He pretends not to notice the way the water streams down her back and over the curve of her ass, squeezes shampoo into his hand, and tries to decide the best way to go about this. She's got a lot of hair and a head injury, so he figures the best thing is to just work slowly and be gentle.

"Mmm." She's got her head tipped back as he massages his fingers over her scalp, working carefully at her hairline so he doesn't hurt her. "Feels good, baby."

Honestly, this girl. She doesn't call him baby too much, usually only when he's inside her or about to be, and it's not helping with this whole resisting-the-sexy-wet-naked-girl thing.

He keeps his hands on her waist when she turns to rinse the suds out of her hair because he's terrified that she's going to slip. He hasn't seen her stumble yet, but that doesn't mean that it can't happen.

"You good now? Blood's gone," he points out. He wants her covered up about ten minutes ago.

She legitimately pouts at him. "You have to do the conditioner, too."

He takes the bottle she hands him wordlessly and goes through the motions again. She looks at him like he's completely stupid when he tells her to rinse. "You have to let it set, Noah."

He stares at her. "So what? We just _wait_?"

She nods, then sets her hands on his shoulders and looks him up and down before gazing at him through her eyelashes. Fuck. "You're hard," she murmurs, taking a little step closer to him.

He snorts. "Well, yeah. Usually when I see you naked, I get to be inside you at some point," he says. "My dick doesn't know that's not gonna happen now."

She lets out this tiny little laugh instead of scolding him for being crass, which would confirm the concussion thing if he wasn't already sure, one hand sliding down his chest slowly. He catches it about halfway down his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and saying her name warningly. "Noah," she breathes. She leans forward and brushes her lips over his chest. "You just look so good."

He takes a slow, deep breath. "Rinse your hair, Rachel."

He holds her arm when she steps out of the tub and onto the bathmat, then takes exactly three seconds to blast himself with cold water before he follows her.

He checks his watch when she falls asleep in his bed, the braid over her shoulder leaving a damp spot on the Indians shirt she pulled from his dresser and asked to wear. He's not usually the guy who watches a girl sleeping; he thinks it's creepy, honestly, but he takes a minute to look at her. He covered the tiny little stitches on her forehead with a little band-aid, and he can see the hints of bruising just around it. Her lips are parted just a tiny bit as she breathes, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and she has her fingers wrapped around the top of his comforter.

She scared the hell out of him today.

He dozes until the alarm on his phone goes off for him to wake her up. He murmurs her name, sets his hand on her shoulder and moves it gently until she blinks her eyes open. "What?" she whines.

"Gotta make sure you don't sleep forever, baby." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wants to take them back. Just thinking about that is fucked up.

"Mmm." She turns on her side to face him. "You're so good to me, Noah."

He pushes his hand into her hair and says her name, waits until she opens her eyes and they focus on his. "You're worth it, right?"

She lets out another little hum, her eyelids fluttering closed as she slips back to sleep.

This time, he can't fall asleep even though he's trying. He's too busy thinking about how much of her is here, in his apartment. There's a little pot of the lip balm she wears at night in the drawer of the bedside table on the side of the bed where she always sleeps, and there's a drawer in his dresser with her things, a few pairs of panties and socks, a couple tops, and a black satin slip he bought for her once because he knew she'd look sexy as hell in it. She keeps shampoo (and conditioner, apparently) in his shower, along with her pomegranate-scented body wash and one of those puff things, bright yellow. He finds bobby pins and hair ties all over the place, and he's pretty sure the earrings she wore last Monday night when they went out to dinner are still on the coffee table where she left them when she took them off.

He's got shit at her place, too, toiletries and some changes of clothes, and a bunch of his DVDs have ended up over there.

He keeps soy milk in his fridge because she doesn't drink the regular stuff, and he knows that she only buys Doritos because he likes them, even if she does have a handful from time to time. They spend nights together where they just sleep, usually when he has to be at work at seven in the morning and she doesn't get away from the theater until nearly eleven, which he's never done with anyone else.

Jesus, he found out today that he's her emergency contact, and she's his even if she doesn't know it.

And he comes to a conclusion: He's totally fucking in love with her.

He thinks about waking her up to tell her, but this isn't exactly the sort of conversation you want to have when your girl is concussed and may or may not remember the things coming out of your mouth.

* * *

><p>"Thank you," Rachel says, taking the two Tylenol he offers her the next morning. She swallows them with tiny sips of water from the glass on the bedside table. "My head is pounding."<p>

She's been awake for about an hour, and Puck can tell that, other than the headache, most of her symptoms have gone away. She's totally lucid and hasn't complained about being dizzy. Rachel's an actress and she always wants everyone to think she's okay, but he warned her not to fuck him around, so he knows she's telling the truth.

He doesn't have to work till tomorrow morning, so he's convinced her to spend her forced day off in bed with him. He just wants to be really isure/i that she's okay.

He looks over at her, leaning back against the headboard wearing nothing but his tee shirt, her hair a mess as she sips from a glass of water. "You scared the hell out of me yesterday," he tells her quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up," he scoffs, ignoring the reprimanding look she shoots him. (She thinks saying shut up is rude, and even though she's right, he didn't mean it that way.) "You're my emergency contact, too."

She smiles a little as she sets her water glass back on the bedside table. "That's good to know." He watches her face change. "I hope I never, ever get that call."

"It's not fun," he says lightly. He doesn't want her thinking about him getting hurt on the job or whatever. "I love you, Rachel."

He just kind of blurts it out, which is totally the wrong way to do it, but fuck it. He loves her and she should know that.

"Noah."

"When I got that call, and I didn't know what had happened...fuck, Rach, I don't think I've ever been that scared."

"Noah."

He ignores her and barrels on. "I know we've been doing this no labels thing, but it's bullshit, Rachel. I love you, and I want to be able to introduce you to people as my girlfriend. I get that-"

"_Noah_." Her voice is quiet, but there's something about her tone that makes him stop talking and look at her. Her eyes are all soft and she's biting her bottom lip. "I'm not ready to say those words," she starts, her voice just barely above a whisper, "but you're my best friend. I don't want to be with anyone else."

"That's good."

She smiles that fucking gorgeous smile and takes his hand. "I do want to be your girlfriend, Noah." He leans forward to kiss her, but she pulls back a little and locks eyes with him. "You should know that I'm falling in love with you, even if I'm not quite there."

Totally good enough for him. He knows she understands that when he pushes her back onto the pillows gently and kisses her until they're both breathless, his hand cradling the back of her head.


End file.
